One night I had this beautiful dream that everyone in my whole world shut their mouths, and I couldn't hear them talking, not because I wasn't listening, but because they were quiet for one blessed eternity. The music was absolutely lovely though.

Then the other night I had this even more wonderful dream in which people stopped thinking anything except beautiful thoughts. Once they quit with the mean, awful, gray thoughts, and started with the lovely, the whole world changed. They were happy. I think that that's the only difference between Heaven and Earth. The Earth is physically beautiful, so why would we want to leave it? I don't think that Heaven can be superior to the Earth in that sense. But as for in the people's minds, they will be filled with sweet thoughts in Heaven, and that'll make all the difference. Maybe there is no heaven to reach after you are dead, but it is possible to reach a place just as good right here while you have that song inside of you, the triumphant shout that is life. All you have to do is stop with the malevolent thoughts, and then everything will be so wonderful. And it'll be like that dream I had, except all the better because it will be real.

Or you can sit through your miserable life, hoping that there is something better. You'll live through your life like I live through my school weeks. Three more days until the weekend, two, one, yay! The weekend! I don't start being happy until the weekend. What if the weekend never came though? Then there goes my week, wasted. It doesn't really matter with me and my week because that's all it is, a week, but if it were my life… and the sky goes boom... all Chicken Little style.

It'd make for a funny little story if a giraffe fell in love with a lion, and she stared at him over the fence in the zoo. Except for the giraffe. I guess she'd be pretty unhappy.

I hate it when people lie to me, and it's so obvious. I guess I hate it more when it's not so obvious.

Haha, hey, Amber remember when I was walking to math from the portables, and I bent down to pick up a flower, and I was looking at it, because it was a weed and when I pulled it out of the ground the roots came up with it, and I was holding this tiny white flower with a whole bunch of root and dirt attached to the end. I yanked off the roots and dropped them, and then began pulling off the petals. I was so engrossed by this flower that I nearly ran into one of the air conditioning things that stick out the side of the shacks. Amber laughed at me. I really didn't see it. That would've hurt, had I walked into it.

The best part of writing on the computer is that sometimes it feels like you just wasted hours and hours, and it's all silly, so you highlight and then click delete, and it's all gone, just like that. You have a fresh sheet of virtual paper to write on. Plus, I like the sound that the keys on the keyboard make when I push them. Clicky, clicky.

Oh and, whoever invented away messages should crawl into his or her hole and stick his or her ugly head up the toilet. There isn't anything in the world that makes me feel more alone than having a list full of people that have better things to do than talk to me. Look at that, now I feel pitiful.

We got a new microwave, and it beeps funny. Actually, it doesn't beep at all; it dings. Don't get me wrong; it's a nice microwave. It has sensors so it'll automatically turn itself off. Not only is that cool, but also very useful because I sure can't figure out how to set it to a minute forty-five. But I miss our old microwave with its stains and beepiness. I got the same feeling when my mom replaced our old green bathroom mats. Those mats are older than our house is. The new mats feel funny on my feet. I get like this every time I get a new tube of toothpaste too. If it's not the same kind of toothpaste, I hate the way it tastes. I think, yuck, this isn't what toothpaste is supposed to taste like. Maybe I just don't like brushing my teeth. It's so boring, you know? Swish, swish, spit, spit. Hey. Do me a favor, will you? From now on, don't let the water run while you brush. It'll save a gallon every time you do it. That'll be two gallons a day, every day, for the rest of your life. That's a lot of water you'll be conserving. I'll be darn proud of you, I promise.

Don't worry about life. Everything will be beautiful, and nothing will hurt.

God wouldn't even matter if people would be good people instead of people.

Oh, you know what God told me? It's always about the sex. Even when it's about pie or kitties, it's about sex. Everything's about sex or power tools, and even power tools are just about sex.

Really all people say when they talk about God is "God bless me, me, me." Sometimes they talk about their dog, but it's mostly about "me, me, me."

Well, not ME, me, me. Them, them, them.

Then I think it's time to give me some more Goldfish, please.

People who sing are so popular! My own mother calls me anti-social, as if it were my fault that I cannot sing, although, I think I am more socially inept than I am anti-social.

If I could make good pie, I'd have my own cooking show where I just make pie all the time, because you know, I'm good at it. And I don't like copying off other people, so I'll say, CRAP! every time I do something so amazing, the people at home will think, "Oh jeez, why even bother taping this? I know I'm too stupid and clumsy to ever be as amazing as she is. She's on TV after all!" CRAP! So here's how you make a pie. You start out with this crust thing. The trick is to find one that suits the kind of pie you want. You want a delicious apple pie, you find yourself a delicious pie crust. You want a delicious cherry pie, you find yourself a delicious piecrust, but not exactly like the apple, you know? CRAP! (and here my guest cook, who'd be some guy from the local news channel here to learn about pie when he doesn't hardly realize that he IS one. He's moving in on my territory, man, it's MY territory...) Then you gotta put in the fillings. You open the can. CRAP! You pour it in CRAP! You mush stuff on top, if it's that kind of yummy pie. CRAP! You stuff it in the oven. CRAP! You turn it on. CRAP! You burn your stupid house down and you lose your right arm and the ability to procreate. ALL RIGHT!

I'm not a huge fan of people that watch cooking shows.